


Retort

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, Dystopia, Ficlet, M/M, Mirror Universe, Orgasm Denial, Slavery, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1326694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly demoted Bones goads his master into punishing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grrarg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grrarg/gifts).



> A/N: Ficlet for “Bones is mirror!Spock's slave […] orgasm denial and watersports, and a Bones POV, maybe, so we can see his frustration with Spock's seeming ambivalence toward his new toy” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Somewhere along the line, his cock gets too sore to rub into the bed, and he has to stop humping the mattress like the complete animal his commander’s turned him into. With a frustrated growl, Leonard rolls onto his side, fingers digging into his palms. He’s resisting touching himself, because with the cockring tight around his base—DNA coded, of course, to someone else’s touch—there’s nothing he can do. He’s been lying here for hours in a maddening haze of incurable hardness—hardly a proportionate response to his misbehaviour this morning. 

Everything he said was true. So what if he said it in his usual snappish tones—he was a free man a month ago, and the Empire can’t simply expect his gruff nature to disappear the moment he makes _one_ little mistake. So he saved a patient’s life that Jim wanted dead. So he yelled himself hoarse at Spock for volunteering to take him. So his new master has all the emotional range of rock—that doesn’t mean he’s not fully entitled to his fury. 

He buries his face in the pillow to stifle his irritated grumble. When he was first passed to Spock instead of Jim, a part of him, beneath all the rage, knew there’d be some benefit. He thought Spock would be, at least, a ‘kind’ master. He thought he might get to capitalize on some maybe-inappropriate latent desires. Purely scientific interest, of course. It’s not like Spock isn’t a particularly striking specimen, handsome as hell and uniquely made up. But this is just... this is just _ridiculous._

He’s barely been used since he was demoted, and when he is taken, it’s with the same cold detachment that the first officer shows his workplace instruments. And now it’s gotten to the point where he’s not even _there_ , off some other place, most likely giving his covert little subtle smiles to James T. Asshole Kirk, while Leonard’s stuck with a rock hard cock and no release in sight. 

When the sound of the doors swishing open reaches him, Leonard wants to stay just where he is, utterly ignoring the man who, for all intensive purposes, ignores the fuck out of him. But instead he jolts upright, half glaring and half staring longingly as the Vulcan rounds the corner into the bedroom. He isn’t looking at Leonard, of course. His long fingers are on the silk sash around his waist, pulling it loose to place neatly on the counter. He leaves his gold-trimmed blue uniform on as he walks calmly passed the bed, headed for the washroom, and Leonard, so frustrated he’s practically seeing red, snarls, “ _Seriously_?”

Spock stops abruptly, looking sideways at him. The ridiculous goatee that Leonard’s told him more than once to shave houses the usual frown. Rather than answer, Spock lifts one arched eyebrow.

If Leonard weren’t thoroughly tethered to the bed by the leash attached to his collar—a precaution lest, Empire forbid, he finds a way to save more unauthorized lives—he’d throw himself at Spock, either beat him senseless or ride his cock. Even Leonard’s not sure which. It’s infuriating that Spock simply continues to look at Leonard’s face, as though he’s completely oblivious to Leonard’s very naked body, glistening with sweat from writhing all day, cock full and hard and huge. Lesser men have begged for his cock before, and Spock doesn’t even _look_ at it. 

“You left me here all damn day! You get me all worked up, and then you just up and leave, and now you’re back and you’re going to ignore me _again_? When do I get my release?”

Without at all addressing the question, Spock replies simply, “You are misbehaving.”

“You’re damn right I am!” Leonard can feel his own cheeks heating, not with embarrassment but irritation. “You’re finally back, and you won’t even look at me! What’s the point of tying my cock if my discomfort doesn’t even give my master amusement?” He snarls the last part; whenever he does concede that Spock _owns_ him for the duration of his punishment, it’s for the sole purpose of getting a rise out of said Vulcan. It usually works. While Spock ponders a doubtlessly ‘logical’ reply, Leonard hisses, “If you were a real man, not a damn robot, you’d fuck me already.” That special edge is in his voice: they both know that in the eyes of the Empire, Vulcans are _weak_.

Something in Spock’s tone shifts. It’s as level as ever, but it feels cold. “Not that it is your place to question my actions, but I was merely going to make use of the washroom. I still have that need.” He looks sideways, clearly about to head off again.

Bones snaps, “You always run away.”

He’s backhanded so suddenly that there’s no room to react—his head’s simply smacked to the side, cheek burning and breath catching. He looks back at Spock, wide eyed, a hand lifting to his cheek—for all his struggling, Spock’s never hit him. Maybe Spock’s run out of patience, the same as Leonard has.

Spock, looking quite stern and every bit the brutal first officer of the head warship in a tyrannical fleet, warns him, “The fact that I conduct my business with considerably more self-control than others is no reason to disregard my authority.” It’s more emotion than Spock’s shown Leonard in a month, and Leonard licks his lips, almost expecting to find blood or a split lip. So the hobgoblin can be rattled, then. 

Leonard’s not about to stop there. It’s not the contact he’s been craving all day, but it is _contact_ , and he leans closer, the thin, chain leash pulling taut as he strains towards his master. Spock’s breathing heavier. Leonard’s voice lowers. “Why’d you even ask for me if you’re not man enough to take me?”

“I need to use the washroom.”

“I don’t care.” He’s got Spock’s eyes on him, and he’s not going to let that change for a second, not going to risk losing the moment—he knows if he lets Spock go now, all the Vulcan safeguards will slip solidly back into place. Spock’s dark eyes are burning a hole into his skull. His pulse is beating faster than it did even when Spock was touching him this morning, tugging his cock to hardness with complete detachment. He’s been going _insane_ under Spock’s ambivalence. All he wants is fire. 

He spreads his legs open slightly—he’s sitting up on his knees—an invitation, a taunt, a challenge. Spock’s eyes flicker down to follow the movement, and Leonard hisses calculatingly, “I’m ready for you.” If he’s going to be an Empire slave, he wants to be one of those that gets pampered and fucked well, treated better than half the officers on this ship. He’s finally got access to Vulcan anatomy; it’s killing him not to use it. 

He half expects Spock to simply turn back to the washroom. Fortunately, he’s never been good at predicting Spock’s intentions. 

Spock lunges at him, just as suddenly as the hit came, and Leonard’s tossed back onto the bed, back landing in the sheets. He yelps in surprise, but a moment later, he’s being rolled around, leash tangling about his neck as the collar slides to accommodate it. A firm hand under his stomach lifts him up, and Leonard scrambles to all fours, his blood pounding in his ears—Spock’s really going to fuck him. In an instant, his anger’s ebbed into excitement, his still-hard cock twitching between his legs, and Spock cruelly reaches down to grasp it. Leonard gasps as he’s fondled, tugged and made to squirm, head hanging as he tries to push himself back into those talented fingers—yes, _yes_ , that’s what he wanted, that’s why he pushed and pushed Spock into action. Spock says quietly above him, “You are a very naughty thing.”

Leonard doesn’t particularly care, so long as he’s being touched. He’ll argue that he’s not a ‘thing’ later. He’s not surprised when two fingers shove abruptly inside him, feeling around to check on the lube Leonard’s kept in himself all day, checking the stretch. He is ready. He’s not stupid. He’s always ready. Spock’s prying fingers still burn, but Leonard doesn’t care. All he can think is that if he gets Spock’s dick inside him, his own cock will get to come. He ruts his hips backwards, biting his lips to avoid whining too desperately. 

Spock mounts him. The weight and heat that drapes over Leonard is heaven-sent. Spock’s arms bracket his, chiseled chest smooth along his back, chin hooking over his shoulder. He can feel the spongy head of Spock’s alien dick pressing between his cheeks, up against his asshole, and that makes him lick his lips again. Vulcan anatomy is just different enough to be exciting. Half the fun of being a space doctor was the excuse to see such sights.

It pops inside in one easy thrust, and Leonard hisses, trying not to clench around the intrusion. It’s thick, but good, and he wants more, all of it. Spock slides in and out, bit by bit, efficiently driving his cock as deep as possible. When it’s all the way to the root, his balls heavy against Leonard’s ass, he nips at the round shell of Leonard’s ear and murmurs, “You brought this upon yourself.”

Brought sex? Perfect. That’s what Leonard wanted. He wanted Spock to fuck him rough and hard and like a _man_ all along. He’s already rocking himself back onto it, trying to give himself the friction Spock seems to be holding out on, when he feels an odd, warm liquid spilling inside him. 

He’s pushed down sharply, neck pinned down to the bed, Spock’s fingers tight around it. Leonard chokes, but the blankets swallow the noise. The leathery collar digs into his skin, and his ass is still held up in the air, and he realizes in shock just what’s happening—Spock’s _pissing_ in him. He should’ve known. Spock warned him, but he didn’t listen, couldn’t, was too hard, and he still is, squirming as the slick liquid sloshes all over his insides. Spock doesn’t move, doesn’t fuck Leonard properly, just holds onto Leonard’s hip and fills him up. It’s partially disgusting. But it’s also Spock _in_ him, and Leonard’s too busy begging to choose. 

He makes up his horny mind to take Spock anyway, take what he can get, and he humps Spock’s hard dick. He’s too old and seen too much to shy away from a bit of kink. The movement makes the piss well up faster, too much for his ass to handle with it already so full of Vulcan cock, and every thrust is a new problem. It starts to slick out the edges of his hole, dribbling down to his balls and out along his thighs, pumped out by Leonard’s own greedy movements. It acts as a lube, slicking him up better, helping Spock move faster, plow into his prostate again and again, big enough to find and stab the right angle every time. Leonard squirms and takes it, more than takes it; he eagerly fucks himself on his master’s cock while Spock pisses inside him. The fact that Spock is hardly fucking him back hardly matters—Spock’s head is right over his shoulder, and Spock’s bow lips brush his cheek, blunt teeth scraping along his jaw line. Leonard shivers in delight; _yes_ , just what he wanted.

He wants to kiss. He’s not sentimental, but he wants his mouth smashed against Spock’s. When he turns his head, Spock allows him one single, fleeting, closed-mouthed kiss, but it’s all Leonard can manage anyway. It’s too hard an angle to maintain, and he’s fucking himself too thoroughly to concentrate on anything else. He tries to push back up on his elbows, but Spock continues to hold him down, so his fingers simply fist in the sheets while his hips do all the work. 

Spock must’ve drunk a dozen cups on shift. He seems to just piss and piss, maintaining a steady stream that wets the majority of Leonard’s legs and builds a puddle between them, making a mess of the sheets. Leonard’s throbbing cock is straining so desperately against its confines. As the stream begins to falter, Leonard tries to go faster, but Spock grabs him so firmly that he can’t move, and he whimpers as he’s held still. The river in him pitters out, and Spock kindly gives him one extra thrust, just to bury it in. Leonard grunts and jerks against Spock’s hold, wanting _more_. 

Then Spock’s slipping out of him, lifting off him, and Leonard collapses, bare crotch landing in the puddle of Spock’s urine. He doesn’t even care. He’s trembling with need. He’s dizzy, and he looks over his shoulder, wishing, desperately, that this were the other way around. _He’d_ show Spock some interest.

He’d piss all over Spock’s pretty face, but instead, he’s stuck lying where he is, while Spock shakes his cock out over Leonard’s ass. Then his lower back is patted, stroked like a pet, just above where all the stains start. Spock tells him simply, “You will be allowed your release after you have cleaned up this mess.” Spock unclips the collar from his leash—another DNA coded instrument—probably to allow this. Leonard tries to glare, but he’s not sure how well he actually manages.

Still hanging out of his pants, Spock heads to the washroom, clearly going to clean himself off. He pauses just before the door, and he says over his shoulder, “And for the record, your discomfort gives your master _very_ much amusement.”

Then he disappears, leaving Leonard to sigh and drink in the tangy smell of his master’s piss. Owned indeed.


End file.
